Betrayal
by SNN
Summary: When Casey dumps Derek for The Smirking Pansy, Derek looses control. Who's really there for him in the end?


**Betrayal**

He looked at them, jealously and anger filling his heart. He'd had her. He'd had her and he lost her. It wouldn't be so bad if he had just lost her, for then there was a chance that he could win her back. But he'd lost her to . . . _him_. _Him_, of all people. She chose him. And Derek couldn't take it.

Letting out a noise that clearly stated his disgust for the two, he stormed past them on the sidewalk and slammed the door shut when he entered his home. Storming up to his room, he took to the stairs, almost flying over them in his rage. He angrily whirled into his room, paying no heed to the protests of his father. It wasn't like he wouldn't find an excuse to yell at him anyway.

He threw his book bag across the room, watching with bitter satisfaction as it crashed into his wall, knocking the records down. Looking at the broken shards of musical plastic, he let a smirk crawl across his face, the mirth that usually came with it never reaching his eyes. Feeling the pent-up anger boiling within him, he let out an anguished scream and flipped his mattress over, throwing the innocuous pillows that used to lay there at the door.

The anger still within him (and growing at an increasing rate), Derek stormed over to his hockey awards, and picked them up, remembering the occasion and utter joy that he'd felt when receiving them. An angry scowl came across his face as he remembered the last award he'd gotten, and that she'd been there to congratulate them. He had a sudden impulse to throw it out the window, then in his foggy, rage-filled mind, thought better of it and decided on throwing them down harshly at his feet. They split apart, the golden remnants rolling on the floor.

Amidst all his rage, and the blood pumping angrily in his ears, he heard her laugh. He wondered how she could be so happy when he was so bitter. He felt so betrayed. She had said that she loved him, and he her. He had never loved another woman in that way before. And he feared that he never would again.

Just the thought that this treacherous being still had so much power over him made him see red. Not fully comprehending what he was doing, he pounded down the stairs. What he saw made him sick to his stomach.

She was making out with him. On the couch. He was on top of her, his hand slowly sliding up her shirt, and she was playing with his black hair. It was getting heated, and _everyone_ was home. Anyone could walk in right now, and they wouldn't even notice.

When this realization hit him, his anger hit an all-time high. He could never have done that with her. Be so open, so free.

Then he thought of Marti. He found that strange, but he still thought of her. She could easily come down the stairs, in her purple princess dress, and see this scene unfolding before her. Good God! She was only six years old! That was like letting a toddler watch a porno movie! He snarled at the oblivious lovers, and went back up the stairs.

_Lovers_.

That's when he made the mad dash to the bathroom.

The bile just came out, and he couldn't stop it. His throat was burning, but it just kept coming. And the more he thought about what he had just witnessed, the more sick he felt. Finally he just relented and held on to his stomach, grateful that his hair wasn't long like those wannabe skater boys. Feeling the episode come to an end, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve and flushed the contents down. He struggled up to the sink, holding onto the sides for support. Closing his eyes, he prayed that he could count on his legs for even a small amount of time, for he felt that if he even put a little weight on them that he would fall.

He looked up at his face in the mirror, hardly recognizing the agonized man before him. The face was sickly pale, along with dark circles under his eyes and sweaty hair. He looked a mess, and he wouldn't deny it.

He turned on the water and splashed the cold substance on his heated face. Doing this several more times, and hoping to God that he looked even remotely normal, he opened the door and traveled down the hall.

Entering the small girl's room, he saw that she was coloring a picture, her stuffed animals creating an 'audience'.

"Hey, Marti," he said, sitting down beside her. She looked up from her art, a happy smile coming across her face before falling at the sight of her brother.

"Smerek, what's wrong?" she asked, her voice dripping with concern.

He picked her up and sat her down in his lap, putting his head on her small one. "Nothing, Smarti. I just wanted to visit you."

Satisfied with this answer, Marti resumed her coloring and hummed, happy that there was one more person (her favorite!) in her audience. Only when she felt her dark hair grow wet did her humming stop and her drop the orange crayon that was in her hand. She turned in her brother's embrace and looked at him, seeing the hurt and anguish in his eyes. "Don't cry, Smerek. Be happy," she said, using her small hands as tissues to wipe away the streams of water on his cheeks.

Derek managed a small smile, "Thanks, Smarti."

She smiled back at him, "Are you going to tell me what's wrong?"

He seemed to think about this for a moment, then decided no harm could come from it before answering, "Yeah. I think I am."


End file.
